


Getting It Straight

by hanarobi



Category: The Faculty (1998)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-17
Updated: 2010-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-06 09:54:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanarobi/pseuds/hanarobi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first Faculty Fic. Yup, I finally wrote something other than RPS.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Getting It Straight

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Faculty Fic. Yup, I finally wrote something other than RPS.

"I'd rather be afraid." Yeah, you had to go and respond, didn't you? Not that bright of a move, Connor, he thought to himself. Scat. He blamed it on the scat. Cause he knew he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Course, he didn't, a lot of the time. Which explained why he kept getting the shit beat out of him.

Stupid after all. Stupid and very much afraid. Yep, that's me, he thought, eyes swiveling in all directions, knowing she just had to be getting close. His eyes froze when they suddenly locked onto hers.

 

Zeke dreamed about sex. He thought about breasts. Firm, small, milky white breasts. Thought about sucking those breasts, licking the nipples. Hard little peaks, flushed red, perched on top of soft white mounds. Breasts that had long soft white blond hair draped over them. Marybeth's hair. He wanted to suckle Marybeth's breasts. He realized he was dreaming. Felt his cock begin to harden as he imagined kneading and sucking, nipping the nipples. Imagined them hardening as his cock hardened. Zeke liked dreaming about sex.

But this morning he seemed to have some trouble concentrating. He had a headache. A bad headache. It was interfering with his dream. And his body hurt. The bed was cold. And hard. How come his bed was hard and cold? And, god, what was going on with his head? He'd never had such a throbbing headache in his life. He groggily put his hand up to rub at the sore temple on the left side of his head. He recoiled and almost vomited as his hand caused shards of pain to go shooting through his skull and his fingers became mired in a sticky mess. What the fuck?…and then….oh, fuck. Goddamn fuck. And with sharpness brought on only by sheer terror, he thought, "Casey."

Regaining his footing wasn't easy. Feeling that he wanted to vomit for hours until his head eased wasn't exactly helpful, either. But he never liked the easy way anyway, so he managed to stand upright and stay that way. Now he had to figure out how to walk. As he gradually came to full consciousness, he realized that he also had to figure out where to walk to. Casey. He had to find Casey. "Dead or Alive," he thought with a sick little grimace as he headed toward the last place he remembered seeing Casey. The lockers, when he had forced Casey to take that second hit of scat. "Happy now?" Kid had a mouth, no matter how inappropriate or how often it brought him an extra jab in the gut.

He stopped short when he saw Stokely lying still on the cold concrete floor in the locked equipment cage. He did remember Casey throwing her in there. Saving him from her. And from Marybeth. Didn't know if Stokely was alive. Couldn't tell from here. Didn't really matter at the moment.

There were three possibilities: If she were dead, there was nothing to be done about it. If she were alive, either she was still alien or not. If she was still alien, no way in hell was he unlocking the cage. If she weren't alien, then she could wait. He had to find Casey. Or Marybeth. Where the fuck were they?

He bent over, resting his hands on his knees, catching his breath, fighting the wave of more-intense-than-usual dizziness that had come upon him out of nowhere. It passed almost as quickly and he caught himself just before he instinctively gave his head a shake to clear it. Not a good idea there, Zekey boy. No sudden moves. Got work to do. Gotta find Casey.

As he gingerly lifted his head from its resting place on his chest, he surveyed the devastation of the locker room. And he knew then how to find Casey. Just follow the trail of crashed lockers. Rather obvious now that he had looked. Swallowing against the constant feeling of nausea, he stood upright again and started for the gym.

**************

"Holyfuckinshit." How the hell had Casey managed to shatter the entire section of bleachers? This was extreme even for Casey. Zeke's eyes traveled down the length of the splintered wooden seats and pretzeled metal grid work.

And then he saw Casey. At the end, slumped against the wall, legs splayed out straight in front on him, face bloody and torn, head slumped to one side. Even squinting and forcing focus from his bloody and swollen eyes, Zeke couldn't tell if Casey was breathing. On the one hand, he was pretty sure he was running, rushing to get to Casey. On the other hand, he was swimming in molasses, here. Three or four seconds took him hours. But when he finally did reach Casey, all his urgency to gather him in his arms and make sure he was okay, that he was at least alive, just dissipated. Because inches away from Casey's still, sprawled body was the alien monster he once knew as Marybeth.

It was his first look at what Marybeth really was and the memory of his sex dream with her, with that, seared across his brain. Then the vomiting feeling triumphed and he fell on all fours, heaving until he felt muscles pull in his back and stomach.

*****************

"Zeke?" Someone (something? Oh dear god, let it be a someone and not a something) was pawing at him, trying to get him to roll over. He wasn't sure that that was a good idea. Not at all sure he wanted to deal with whatever was trying to get his attention. But then the someone/something said his name again, just a bit sharper, the note of panic rather clear, and Zeke did roll over because he recognized the voice as belonging to a someone, to Casey.

"Hey, Zeke—come on, wake up. Zeke!"

"Hey."

"Zeke!" And suddenly he had an armful of Casey clutching at him, shaking and making strange noises. It took him a minute to realize that Casey was in fact laughing. He didn't quite know how to respond to that and his mind just wandered off on its own for a minute as he tried to remember if he had ever heard Casey laughing. Oh, yeah, right. When Casey had gotten high, just a few hours earlier. Tweaking. Tweaking Casey had had a severe case of the giggles. Really weird, stupid sounding giggles. So weird that Stan had almost shot him.

Zeke just laid there, on his back, on the dusty cold floor of the gym, Casey Connor's head buried against his chest, laughing, while Zeke thought about Casey's earlier bout of giggles. Without even thinking about it, Zeke's hand fondled the back of Casey's neck, his fingers occasionally running themselves through Casey's hair. Zeke thought about Casey giggling and he felt happy, relaxed. And then he thought about his dream, about Marybeth and how it felt to suck her breasts, and all those sensations and emotions ran into one and panic/disgust overrode everything and he shoved Casey off of him with all his strength. Casey landed on his backside, hard, knocking the breath out of him. A suddenly silent Casey stared at him with massively wide eyes, the blue of them burning holes in Zeke's skin.

"Get off me, you fuckin pervert!" He didn't know why he was so furious, only that he was.

The only response from Casey was the continued stare. Zeke fought for control, remembering that only moments before, getting to Casey was the only thing that mattered. What the hell was going on with him? Closing his eyes, shutting out Casey's eyes, he willed some composure back. Very gingerly, he sat up, once more back in control.

"So what happened, huh? Is she gone?" Let's get back to the issue, here. We need to kill the alien. Nothing else matters.

"Yes." Just that one word and spoken so softly that Zeke barely heard it.

"Tell me."

"What?"

"Tell me what happened, Casey. Tell me how you killed her."

"I….I didn't kill…"

Zeke's eyes popped open with that, by now, familiar feeling of fear-driven urgency.

"She's not dead!?"

"No, no. She's dead. I did…I guess I…I did kill her, Zeke." The voice had gotten shaky. "I killed Marybeth." And then, "Oh, shit. I killed someone." Those stupid buggy blue-eyes raised themselves and locked into Zeke's, horror and tears both overflowing.

"That was the point, Connor. Shit, don't freak out on me now."

Casey just continued to stare at Zeke, tears by now freely running down his face. The tears were making watery pink tracks down Casey's cheeks as they washed over the openly bleeding cuts on his face.

"Did she get you?" Zeke asked, pointing to Casey's face.

"Huh?" Casey asked, stupidly, then raised his hand to his face, flinching and grimacing as his hand rasped across one of the cuts. "Oh, yeah. I guess." He seemed pretty unconcerned about it but Zeke went cold all over. Shit. Casey was infected.  
Casey was as good as dead now because Zeke was going to have to kill him. And right now, he would give anything to be lying on the gym floor again; Casey cuddled on his chest, laughing while Zeke stroked his hair. Zeke was going to have to kill Casey.

Casey was absorbed in touching the wounds on his face, trying to figure out how bad they were, how many of them there were. He had withdrawn into himself for a moment and came out of it only because he became aware of Zeke staring at him. For all his inability to function in the everyday world of high school, he did understand things rather quickly when he had to and as he met Zeke's glance, he knew exactly what Zeke was thinking.

"She's dead, Zeke. The parasites are all dead. I'm clean."

"Sure."

"Look!" Casey pointed to the mostly dissolved body of Marybeth/alien. "She's dead, Zeke." Maybe if he repeated it often enough, Zeke would understand.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean the parasites are. Maybe Stokely was wrong."

Shit. Zeke had a point. Casey tried to feel inward and see if he was infected. He didn't feel infected. Surely he would know, wouldn't he? Did the others know? They seemed to have. Stan knew. Delilah had known. Even Stokely had known. And they had seemed to accept it. To go along with Marybeth's alien wishes. They even claimed to be happy, at peace, no longer afraid. He wasn't any of those things. You would think he would have been. Shit, if he were going to be infected with alien slugs, he should at least get the benefits everyone else seemed to feel. Marybeth was dead. He had killed her. He had saved the world. That should be enough to make anyone happy, even without the aid of alien slugs. But here he sat, a painful throbbing in his hip where he had landed when Zeke had thrown him; his face was aching and bleeding as much as it had ever had when the football team jammed him into the serrated teeth of the edge of a locker; he was totally freaked out over the thought that he had killed Marybeth, even if she had been in alien form; and it looked as if Zeke was planning to kill him.

All things considered, he was pretty damn sure he had not been taken over by aliens. As far as he could tell, this was just his life as usual, only significantly worse. For a brief second he kinda wished Marybeth were still alive and willing to give him a second chance.

"Where's the scat, Casey?" Zeke's voice was completely neutral. Emotionless.

"Scat?" Oh,… yeah. Scat. Alien litmus test. There had been three pens left when he grabbed them from Zeke's unconscious hand. One went into Marybeth's eye. He had done that. Drove the pen into her/ oh shit/ its eye. Killed her. He killed, he had killed…

"Casey!" Zeke was standing up, moving away from him. Glaring at him. "Where's the fucking scat, Casey?" Zeke clearly didn't trust him and would try to kill him as soon as possible.

Casey thought if he could just lie down and go to sleep first, maybe he wouldn't really mind all that much. Oh, the scat. Right. Where…? Oh,… yeah. Where he had fallen when Marybeth spewed those things at him. He turned to look in her direction, choking just a little to see the lump of alien flesh still erupting in little fizzes every so often. He really felt sick.

"There. They should be there." He just waved in the general direction of Marybeth, already turning away, resting his forehead on his knees as he curled his legs up tightly against his chest.

Zeke gave him a careful stare, as if daring him to suddenly have parasites crawling around under the skin of his face, then limped over to the corner by the bleachers. Two simple commonplace blue and white pens lay on the ground, dried little spots of white fizz surrounding them. Casey's parasites? Well, one way to find out.

"Take it." Casey looked up from the really comforting position of being folded completely in on himself to see Zeke, a bloodied, determined Zeke, holding out one of the pens of scat to him.

"After you." Casey returned Zeke's glare.

"I'm not a fucking alien, Casey, but you …you had those things in you. Gotta know what's going on. Now take it."

"Yeah, and what happened to you when Marybeth got you before she threw you over the lockers, huh? She infected everyone she got close to. How did you get so lucky? Bet you're one of them now, aren't you, Zeke? You take it."

Zeke just looked down at him. Casey couldn't tell what emotion was present, but then, he never had been very good at reading Zeke.

"Fine, we'll both do it. Together."

"Is that the last of the scat? Shouldn't we save one? Test Stokely or something?"

"Fuck it, Casey. Just take it!"

"Yeah, well, fuck you, Zeke. I just snorted a second one less than an hour ago, remember? I'm already full of that shit!"

Zeke remained motionless, just continuing to hold out one of the remaining pens of scat. Casey never was very good at a standoff with anyone. Against Zeke, he had no hope.

"Fuck." He said as he grabbed it out of Zeke's hand. "If I fry my brains, it'll be on your head."

"I can live with that. Just take it."

"Yeah, but will I? And you have to take it too, right?"

"Yeah. Together, Casey. We do it together." He unscrewed the cap.

Casey managed to do the same and this time with only one hand. He was getting the hang of sniffing scat from cheap pens. "Yeah," he thought cynically, "I am well on my way to being cool now." He stuck the pen up his nose and sniffed it mightily, not even waiting to see if Zeke would go along or pull an alien fake-out. If Zeke was an alien he might as well get stoned. Zeke had the last of the scat in his possession and if Casey were going to die or get taken over or whatever, he really didn't want to be aware of it. Not anymore.

He didn't even look at Zeke as he felt the painful burn eat at his nose and sink into his brain. He staggered a bit and tried to sit down gently but ended up falling on his ass and hitting the same sharp hipbone he had fallen on earlier. Shit. Rubbing his butt, he looked up at Zeke. Zeke who was grinning down at him, the pen full of scat still in his hand. Oh. Oh,…. shit. Oh fuck fuck fuck. Zeke wasn't taking the scat. Oh. Fuck. And then Zeke laughed, a rich full laugh, unlike anything Casey had ever heard from him before, stuck the pen up his nose and snorted the full amount without a blink.

Casey's mouth hung open and he was still rubbing his butt, completely unaware that he was doing so. Zeke blinked a few times as the powder worked its way into his system, guaranteeing him to be 100% alien free. "God, Connor, you are such a dork." and only then did Casey realize what he was doing. Embarrassed, he moved his hand away from his hip.

But then Zeke collapsed on the floor beside Casey and gathered him into his arms, holding him tightly, laughing. And Casey felt the relief flood him, and he felt the giggles beginning to bubble up, and the scat made him feel really good, and he was giggling and he knew it and knew he sounded really goofy, but didn't care and he was happy and Zeke was laughing and he was giggling and he was so glad that he didn't get that second chance from Marybeth after all, because surely this was better than anything she had to offer, even if he couldn't stop giggling, even if it was just the scat that made everything feel so good right now, and fuck, he really needed to stop giggling.

And then Zeke stretched out on the floor, dragging Casey down with him, settling Casey in against him, keeping him wrapped in his arms. Casey just went with the flow and nestled his head against Zeke's chest, glad that his level of exhaustion was great enough to be putting a damper on the giggling because he thought he really, really needed to stop now, wrapping an arm around Zeke's chest and a leg over the closest of Zeke's thighs. And he held on tightly and Zeke let him, even welcomed it.

And even with the scat, even as his third hit in less than four hours wandered around his nervous system, eliciting the random giggle every so often, Casey smiled and dozed off in Zeke's arms. He completely missed out on the kisses Zeke planted on his bruised cheeks before joining him in sleep. Zeke dreamed of sex.

tbc


End file.
